


Personal Relevance

by casey270



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Did I mention sex?, M/M, Prostitution, Sex Is Fun, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Personal relevance is the critical factor in differentiating between reality and fantasy</i> - <b>What is 'Real'? How Our Brain Differentiates Between Reality and Fantasy</b><br/>http://phys.org/news157029052.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Solicited Love Fest](http://solicited-love.livejournal.com)

The agency Tommy works for specializes in fantasy gratification, not just sex. Tommy doesn’t kid himself, though. He’s still a hooker, plain and simple, and he doesn’t have a problem with that. 

He’s not what anyone would call an old pro at this, but he’s been in the trade long enough to know that he likes it, and more importantly, how he likes it. He doesn’t go in for all the romantic shit some johns seem to want, but he doesn’t always want fast and hard, either. He likes it varied, likes someone who can switch things up, but not too many tricks think about his pleasure enough to actually do that. Usually tricks stick to one or the other, and Tommy thinks that’s just fucking sad.

He can usually tell which type of date it’s gonna be by what type of stage dressing the john requests. He doesn’t really mind the costumes, but sometimes he has a hard time keeping a straight face when he’s wearing them. 

He’s never been able to build much in the way of muscle. It’s just not gonna happen with his body type. That bothered him when he was younger, but not anymore. Now, he can pull off almost any age because of it. If the client wants him to be young, he just shaves extra close - sometimes all over. 

Tonight he’d gone with what seemed to work with the costume requested - a close shave on his face and neck and chest, and a little manscaping down below. Looking in the mirror when he’s all put together, he can’t help laughing. Shit, he looks like some damn character out of Scheherazade or something, complete with harem pants and a brocade vest. It’s not the most outrageous costume request he’s ever had, though. He’s still damn proud of himself for turning down the john who wanted him in a diaper. No way is he gonna get into that shit. 

This john had also requested cuffs, so Tommy thinks this is gonna be one of those hard and fast fucks. He’s okay with playing the naughty slave boy, as long as the client doesn’t leave any permanent marks. Sometimes he has to break character to remind them that they really don’t own his ass, that they’re only renting it for a few hours. 

The agency has set up a special room for them tonight, and judging from the name of the hotel, Tommy knows this john has more than a few dollars to spare. He walks out of the bathroom after he’s finished dressing and doing his makeup, satisfied that he’s set to play the part to the best of his ability, and whistles in admiration. 

The agency must have had a huge fucking budget and a whole crew in to work over the room, because when Tommy got there it was a very nice room, posh even. But it’s been transformed while he was getting ready, and now it’s covered in silks and gold and tassels and pillows and shit. He feels like he’s in Aladdin's castle, or some damn thing. Even the lube and condoms are in keeping with the mood. The lube’s in a decanter that looks like a genie’s magic lamp, and the condoms are in a gold filigree bowl. He thinks the agency went a little over the top with the amount of both, but he’s found it’s always better to have extra than not enough. Besides, taking everything into consideration, he thinks this trick can handle the expense. 

He’s got a minute or two to spare, so he tries to settle himself into character. He picks up one of the cuffs and looks at it. It’s been worked to fit the fantasy, too. He thinks it’s leather underneath, but the inside is the softest silk, while the outside is brocade to match his vest. Taking it all in, he’s not sure if the john wants demure contrition from him or fierce rebellion, but he’s sure he’ll find out any second, because he hears the click as a key card is used to unlock the door.

This is it, Tommy thinks. Show time. Time to sell his character and make someone’s fantasy a reality for the night. This is the make or break point for a successful encounter. This is when the anticipation hits him right in the pit of his belly, and he remembers just why he likes doing this so damn much.

When he watches the john walk through the door, Tommy can’t quite get a feeling for what type he is, or what type he might want Tommy to be. The trick’s posture isn’t ramrod stiff, but he doesn’t look like he’s used to bending for any man, and he seems very confident and in control, which would indicate that he’d want someone who would follow direction, who’d obey. 

On the other hand, Tommy can see a wicked gleam in the man’s eyes. It’s the look of someone looking for adventure and maybe a little bit of a fight. It’s sure as shit not the look of someone who wants a night with a docile little boy toy.

The john’s eyes aren’t the only thing that Tommy notices. The man’s dressed like a sultan, complete with a turban, all flashy turquoise and gold, and it works better than it fucking should. 

There’s no time for Tommy to decide on a persona to wear for the night, because the john is wasting no time in crossing the room on legs that go on and on and all the way up. Tommy’s never really been a leg man. He’s always been more about asses and chests, but there’s a sense of authority in the way this man walks that sends a tingle of appreciation straight to Tommy’s dick.

He’s still standing next to the bed, cuffs in hand, and the client shows absolutely no shame in looking him up and down, checking him out. There’s nothing unusual about that, and it’s something that Tommy normally likes. It’s a chance to show off, to display his wares. 

But there’s something different about it this time. 

Tommy thinks it might have something to do with not getting his character set before the trick showed up, but it feels like it’s more than that. It feels like this john is looking right through the costume and the character and right into Tommy himself, and that shit never happens. 

Johns never want to see the real him, even when they’re repeat customers. They pay good money to have their fantasy played out in real life. He’s perfectly okay with being just another piece of stage dressing, an object to help them take their dreams on a journey into reality, even for just a few hours.

And honestly, he fucking loves the pure sex. He likes having different hands on his body, and he likes having different dicks in his ass. He’s not ashamed to admit it. He’s just used to having the security of not having to reveal his whole self. This feels too much like vulnerability, and that’s not something he’s ever been able to make friends with. 

The john stands there, right in front of him, still looking at him with the most fucking intense eyes that Tommy’s ever seen. Tommy, who’s always been Mr. Nothing-about-this-job-can-faze-me, suddenly feels awkward and fidgety and naked in a way that has nothing to do with clothes.

Then the john smiles his hunter’s smile again, and Tommy feels like he has a little bit of his equilibrium back. This is more familiar territory. This is a game he understands.

“The agency said your name is Will. Will Cox to be exact. Are both names fake, or just the last one?” the john asks. Tommy’s never had a trick question his name before. None of them ever cared what he wanted to call himself, one way or another. Most of them called him by a different name, the name of someone they wanted him to be, if they called him anything at all. 

Tommy’s sure as shit not going to tell a client his real name, though. That would be too fucking personal. Except his brain forgets to let his mouth know that, and before he can stop himself, he’s saying, “Tommy. Tommy Joe Ratliff. Wilcox is the street I live on.” 

_Shit_ , Tommy thinks, because now the john knows who he is and where he lives, and that’s so wrong on so many levels. That’s a rookie mistake, right the fuck there. That’s how people end up with troubles that could make them sorry or make them dead. 

Except this john doesn’t seem dangerous - at least not that way. He might have the look of a predator, but Tommy thinks he’s hunting for pleasure, and that’s so fucking okay in Tommy’s book that his dick is already straining to let him know it’s ready for the fun to begin.

“Well, Tommy Joe Ratliff, I’m Adam.” 

The john stands there, looking at him, like the name’s supposed to mean something to Tommy. Something about him is familiar, though, and Tommy realizes that he _does_ know who this john is. Most of Tommy’s clients come from money, but it’s the behind the scenes kind of money. The people he entertains aren’t usually in the celebrity category, but it’s not exactly the first time it’s happened. Even rock stars have fantasies, and Tommy sure as shit knows how to make them come true. 

Tommy’s not about to complain. He likes the look of this client - tall and strong, dark and handsome. And those eyes; Tommy really can’t stay away from those eyes. If this john has a kinky side that he’d rather keep from the public, well then, Tommy’s just the man to help him with it. He knows how to use his mouth, but he knows when to keep it shut, too. 

“So, Adam, ‘s there anything special you’re looking for tonight?” It’s an opening gambit, a chance for Tommy to get back on a track he’s familiar with and maybe feel like he’s controlling the scene again. 

“Not so much a something as a someone,” Adam says moving right into his personal space, and it’s not like Tommy’s not used to the touching, but that intensity is right back in his eyes, and even more than that, Tommy can feel it radiating right through the fucking air. 

Tommy can’t help taking a small step backwards, and this trick - Adam, Tommy reminds himself - follows right along. “As you can probably tell, I get off on the whole costume thing,” Adam tells him, and he’s close enough for Tommy to feel the words right against his skin. “I like playing dress up and the stage settings and all the accoutrements.” 

Adam’s been taking small steps all the while he was talking, forcing Tommy to back up a little more with each word. He can feel the edge of the bed against the back of his thighs now, and he knows there’s nowhere else to go. 

“What I need from you, Tommy, is someone who can play this game with me and still keep it real. I need someone who can play a part and still be true. Think you’re up for that?”

Tommy swears he sees something flash in Adam’s eyes, but he thinks it might just be a reflection of the fire he feels burning through him. This john is like nothing he’s ever seen before, and Tommy’s not sure if he really fucking likes it, or if it scares the hell out of him.

Adam takes another small step, and Tommy’s sitting on the mattress in a daze. He can’t make himself break eye contact with this john, no matter how hard he tries, and that’s just not supposed to happen. There isn’t supposed to be this level of personal shit. He’s gotta find a way to put this back on the level of professional detachment he’s used to. He has to figure out how to regain control of the situation.

Instead, he says, "You can do anything you want to me," as he holds out the cuffs to this Adam.

Taking them, Adam climbs right up on the bed, smiling as Tommy backs up until he’s sitting pressed against the headboard, and that’s as far as he can move. That hunter’s smile is still there, both in Adam’s eyes and on his lips, only it’s amped and ramped way the hell past eleven, and the idea of being the object of this hunt is giving Tommy one hell of a boner.

By the time Adam has Tommy’s wrists cuffed to the headboard - specially reinforced at the agency’s request and expense, thank you very much - he feels like his dick is standing right up, ready to salute. Tonight’s one night he won’t mind taking it quick and rough.

But Adam seems to want to take his time, now that Tommy’s not going anywhere, and he peppers small kisses over Tommy's mouth and down his neck. This isn't completely unheard of. Tommy's run into johns before who had fucked up machismo issues and needed to prove that they were good enough to get a hooker off. He’s had tricks who went straight for all the known pleasure points and erogenous zones, trying to see how fast they could get him to come (It’s always for them, never for himself. Tommy doesn’t know why the words _come for me, baby_ seem to come out of every single john’s mouth at some point, but they always do) but this isn't the same.

Adam _watches_ him, studying him so closely that Tommy feels that vulnerable part of himself trying to creep back to the surface. Adam goes back to whatever gets a reaction over and over and fucking over again, changing what he’s doing just the tiniest bit and learning how those small changes affect Tommy.

Adam genuinely seems to want to see Tommy enjoy this. He takes his time on his way down Tommy's chest, pushing aside the brocade vest and teasing each nipple with tongue and teeth, like he has forever to reach Tommy's dick, which is practically begging for attention. Adam stops and sucks on the tender flesh of Tommy's belly before swirling his tongue right the fuck into Tommy's navel. It's something Tommy's used on johns before, but he's never been on the receiving end. He can't help his body's reaction as he arches right up against Adam's tongue.

He also can’t stop the moan and the _fuck, yeah_ that come out of his mouth. Tommy’s actually kind of proud of his moans. He’s practiced them enough, and he can moan just about any emotion that fits a particular trick’s needs. 

Except this trick already told Tommy he needs honesty. Adam doesn’t hesitate to call him on it, either. He looks right up at Tommy’s eyes and says, “Give me the real shit, Tommy, or don’t give me anything at all.” 

Adam’s fingers tease the band of Tommy’s pants, just like he’s not gonna go any further unless he gets what he wants. Tommy doesn’t doubt that he would, either. Adam’s fantasy might just be to have a captive slave boy begging to be fucked and promising to be good, all the goddamn night. The only problem is that Tommy really wants to beg and make that promise.

He wants to do those things, and that’s the exact reason why he can’t. He’s always prided himself on being a professional. He’s always been pleased with his ability to give pleasure and take pleasure, while staying detached, personally. 

But this man, this Adam, paid to have his fantasy fulfilled, and his fantasy is honesty. The agency took his money and gave Tommy the assignment. They must have thought Tommy could do this thing, and do it well enough to satisfy the john. Besides, Tommy really wants to do this, because he really likes the feeling of Adam’s big, strong hands on his body, and more to the point, he really, really likes the feeling of Adam’s big, strong dick pressing against him with only a couple layers of gauzy harem pants between them. Tommy wonders if Adam’s dick is as pretty as it is big, and he’s willing to do just about anything to find out. 

If this john wants realness, he’ll be as fucking real as real can be, as soon as he figures out what the hell that means. 

He doesn’t have long enough to work his way through it, though, because Adam’s taking him to school over it. Scooting down so his mouth is hovering so close to the filmy material covering Tommy’s dick that he can feel the warmth of the words, Adam says, “I told them I wanted someone who does this because they want to be doing this. Someone who’s only here because of the money won’t make this work. Someone who’s only doing this until they can do something else isn’t good enough.” 

Tommy strains to watch as Adam’s head moves that last little bit, bringing that mouth and those lips close enough to settle right in over the head of Tommy’s dick, and he stays there, teasing and just breathing. Tommy counts off his heartbeats, feeling the moist heat of Adam’s breath working through the material and all the way to the pit of his belly before Adam says, “So, tell me, Tommy Joe Ratliff, and tell me the fucking truth. Do you like this?”

Tommy thinks he likes it so fucking much that he’s likely to come right in his pretty little harem pants if this john - no, Adam, he correct himself. This man went way past being just another trick when he took Tommy’s ability to form recognizable words away - keeps his mouth there any longer. 

The guttural noises that Tommy can force to life from somewhere deep inside don’t seem to be enough for Adam, because he says, “Words, Tommy. You’re gonna have to concentrate on what you really want to say. I need your words before I go any further.” 

The puff of breath that accompanies each of Adam’s words feels like it’s aimed right at his cock, mixing with the dampness on the outside that’s quickly combining with the dampness on the inside, courtesy of Tommy’s attention starved dick. 

He thinks this is the sweetest torture he’s ever felt, and he’d make a point of remembering just exactly what Adam’s doing so he could use it on johns later, but he doesn’t think he has enough brain cells left for that right now. They’re all too busy screaming at him to give this man whatever the hell he wants, so he’ll continue doing whatever it is he’s doing. 

He’s wound so tight, he thinks he’s about to shatter any second, and he’s always had more control than this. He’s not sure what Adam wants from him, but he’s beyond the point of holding anything back to protect whatever noble ideal he has of professionalism. With nothing more than a finger under Tommy’s waistband and a warm mouth on his pants, this man has stripped away all the layers of learning and acting and giving the john what they want that took Tommy so long to perfect. 

On top of all that, this Adam seems to think that Tommy should be able to think rationally and analyze the situation and come up with some fucking earth shattering truth. There’s no goddamn way in all hell that he can think past the fact that he _wants_ , and he _needs_ , and yes, he fucking loves fucking.

He loves the heat and the passion and the damn urgency of it. He loves the feeling of soft flesh covering hard muscles. He loves the smell and the taste and decadence of it all, and most of all, he loves being able to love it without the baggage society tries to bury it under. He loves being able to lose himself in the physicality and the release without tying himself down with emotions and guilt. He loves sex just for the sake of sex, with no expectations and no commitments.

Somewhere in the middle of all that fucking introspection, some of the thoughts rushing through his mind must have made their way out of his mouth. He can feel it in the way Adam’s hands start moving again, finally pushing the harem pants down far enough to expose his dick to the air and Adam’s hands and mouth or any other damn thing Adam wants to expose it to. 

Adam’s smiling that hunter’s smile again when he says, “Good answer, Tommy. Now we can have some fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for @glamlawyer's birthday; posted for [Bring Back the Porn](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/bbtp_challenge)
> 
> This is the porny part, with just enough words to hopefully hold it together.
> 
> Betad by @janesgravity

“Good answer, Tommy. Now we can have some fun,” Adam says, letting his fingers trace a line down the underside of Tommy’s cock. Watching the way Tommy responds, the tremor that first runs through the muscles closest to his dick before spreading out and up, is probably one of the prettiest things Adam’s ever seen.

Adam smiles as a breathy, barely there sound of the purest want he’s heard in a long time comes out of Tommy’s mouth. He looks up to make sure that the expression on Tommy’s face matches the sounds he’s making, and there’s no doubt in his mind that it’s real.

“You like that, Tommy,” Adam says. There’s no way in hell it’s a question. He’s worked through his share of men and boys, looking for someone who’s secure enough in themselves to give him the honesty he needs. 

The older he’s gotten, the clearer it’s become that honesty’s the rarest commodity when it comes to sex. Whether it’s to spare hurt feelings or to build up fragile egos, the little untruths usually come from good places, but they’re untruths, all the same. A lie told for the greater good is still a lie, and he’s made it his mission to have one perfectly honest sexual encounter. 

And right now, Adam has a perfect, honest playground spread right out beneath him, just begging for the chance to be truthful for him.

“Let’s see if we can find something else you like,” Adam says, his voice gone all husky and throaty with anticipation. He’s teasing now, but not really. He _does_ want to know what Tommy likes, but more than that, he want’s to see Tommy liking it. He needs to witness it with his eyes and his ears and his mind, and he needs to file it away to keep as a benchmark to measure against.

Adam starts slowly, pulling Tommy’s harem pants down, inch by mind-numbing inch, nuzzling in to kiss and nip the skin that’s exposed. He keeps a close watch on Tommy’s reactions, looking for the signs that might tell him when the gauge tips from oh-so-sweet-torture to too much. 

His tongue traces a trail along the top of Tommy’s thigh, all the way from hipbone to the tender, sensitive skin of his inner leg. Adam watches while he does it, taking in both the involuntary quivering of the muscles there and the way Tommy’s eyes flutter closed. 

When he thinks Tommy’s absolutely lost in the sensation and the moment, Adam bites down, hard enough to leave a mark, but not hard enough to break through. He watches in fascination as the pale, delicate skin of Tommy’s thigh blossoms with the red of passion and pain. He loves the breathy, needy sounds that come out of Tommy’s mouth, even if he does say, “Remember your words, Tommy. Tell me what you like.”

Most of all, he can’t get past the way Tommy’s eyes open wide, the pupils narrowing at the sudden pain before they blow wide and glass over with desire. That reaction is truest thing Adam’s ever seen. That’s something that can’t be faked, and Adam’s cock hardens at the sincerity of it. He presses the heel of his hand against it as he tries to swallow down the immediacy of his need. 

Tommy must be watching Adam, too, because he says, “Lemme see it. Wanna see it and taste it and make you come right down my throat.”

Adam can tell by the way Tommy pulls against the cuffs that still have his hands imprisoned against the headboard that this is no whore’s act. There’s an absolute need blatantly and blindingly apparent in the tightness of every tendon and muscle of Tommy’s body, and it’s so fucking decadent that Adam can’t refuse. 

Without a thought to how graceful he looks, Adam strips off his sultan’s costume, tossing the turban to whatever corner of the room it lands. He’s more than willing to use Tommy’s mouth. There’s something about watching the way Tommy’s biting his bottom lip, pulling just the tiniest bit of it between his teeth while his eyes ask the most intimate questions of Adam. It’s not a practiced move, not a trick of Tommy’s trade. Adam’s certain of that. There’s open-faced vulnerability showing through, and that’s what Adam’s been looking to find for so long. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Adam says as he straddles Tommy’s chest, knees on the bed and hands braced against the headboard. The tip of his dick is close enough to Tommy’s mouth that he can feel the moisture on each exhalation, and Adam isn’t surprised to feel that old, familiar tightening in his belly. 

Adam moves his hips just enough to let the head of his cock slide back and forth across Tommy’s lips, and he thinks it’s one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen. When Tommy’s tongue peeks out, collecting a tiny bead of precum, Adam can’t hold back the involuntary bucking of his hips. 

Tommy opens his mouth at the right time, his lips relaxing into the perfect welcoming O, and the head of Adam’s dick slides right in, just like it belongs there. It’s enough to take his breath away. Adam takes a second - maybe more; he’s not sure - to let let the sensations wash over him, those soft, warm lips holding his cock still for as long as it takes to get his thoughts back in order.

“Show me, Tommy.” Adam’s voice is little more than a whisper, soft with anticipation and barely contained desire. “Show me what you like. Show me how you want me to fuck you.”

Tommy does just that, his enthusiasm apparent as he moves his head forward, taking in all of Adam’s length with practiced ease and swallowing around him. It’s so totally unexpected that Adam almost comes right then. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t even think. 

Tommy swallows around him one more time, the constricting muscles of his throat rippling in waves down Adam’s dick, and Adam’s sure he’s going to come, ready or not, but just when he thinks the game is gonna end before it can really start, Tommy pulls off, a wickedly teasing gleam flashing in his eyes before his face settles into what looks like complete bliss. If Adam ever doubted that Tommy’s in this line of work for any other reason than he just plain likes it, he doesn’t question it now. Tommy loves what he’s doing.

Adam watches as Tommy’s tongue flicks out and licks slowly from the base of his dick to the tip, sending tingles and spikes of energy up and down Adam’s spine. He loves the almost greedy look that Tommy’s wearing now, and he can’t help arching his back, pushing in that much closer to Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy doesn’t seem to be one to waste an opportunity, because he takes advantage of the new closeness and angle in very inventive ways. Adam’s not opposed to Tommy using the tricks he’s learned, as long as he uses them because he honestly wants to, and the look of near rapture on Tommy’s face is enough to tell Adam that he wants this more than anything else right now. 

Adam wants this more than anything, too. He wants nothing more than to stay in this perfect place, with this perfect man, who’s doing the most sinfully perfect things to him. He feels Tommy’s tongue flickering over the skin of his sac, and he wants to move in closer, give Tommy the opportunity to reach new places. He feels the edges of Tommy’s teeth scraping ever so slightly against the underside of his cock, just enough to feel the edge of intensity, the promise of pain, and he doesn’t think he can ever move away. He feels Tommy’s lips, sucking the tender skin right at the base of his dick, and he knows if he doesn’t move now, he’ll never be able to. 

Using every bit of willpower he can find, Adam backs away, leaving Tommy whining, his eyes pleading for one more minute, one more taste, one more chance. He lets his finger trace down Tommy’s cheek and throat, watching transfixed as Tommy swallows down his want. 

His hand continues on its path over chest and belly, while Adam watches the involuntary trembling of the muscles beneath it. He thinks he’s painting a picture of desire, and Tommy’s his canvas. 

“It’s my turn now,” Adam says, still watching Tommy’s reactions and learning from them. “Now I get to show you some of the things I want to do to you.” 

With the hand that’s not occupied with mapping the contours of Tommy’s body, Adam reaches for the decanter of lube. He would normally appreciate the care given to keeping even the smallest props in line with the setting he requested, but right now, his mind is busy marveling at the viscosity of its contents and watching as he pours a small pool of it right on Tommy’s belly. 

His right hand - the one that still hasn’t quit roaming over Tommy’s exposed skin - runs through the thick liquid, judging it to be the perfect consistency. He rubs his fingers together, enjoying the silkiness that coats and spreads over his hand. 

He smiles when Tommy hips jerk in anticipation, trying to hurry him. “No, Tommy. We do this my way, in my time,” Adam reminds him, and he thinks he can see Tommy giving in, melting to Adam’s will a little more with each word. 

Tommy opens his mouth to answer, and Adam has no doubt that it would be something smart and sarcastic, but he doesn’t give Tommy the chance. Before the words can even form on Tommy’s lips, Adam has two slicked fingers inside, scissoring them to open Tommy up. 

There’s no warning, no time for Tommy to adjust to the idea. Adam isn’t inconsiderate. He’s sure Tommy can take it, at least physically. He wants to keep Tommy reacting emotionally, not giving him a chance to think and plan and wonder about what he _should_ be doing. 

Adam keeps Tommy unbalanced by pulling out and coming right back with three fingers, slowing the rhythm to keep Tommy’s mind centered on what he’s doing. He leans in and kisses the corner of Tommy’s mouth, the contact almost nonexistent, just a fluttering touch. 

He can tell from the catch in Tommy’s breath and the look of surprise in his eyes that he’s not used to being kissed, but it’s something he likes. A lot. Since Adam likes it too, he sees no reason not to do it again, deeper and fuller this time. 

He wants to explore Tommy from the inside out, so he pushes past the seam of Tommy’s lips with his tongue, feeling the sharp edges of teeth and the warm, wet welcome of the inside of his mouth. 

Adam matches the tempo of the kiss to the movement of his fingers, playing Tommy like a fine and cherished instrument, the slow sweep of both finding the hidden ways and places that make Tommy moan and tremble in absolute openness. 

When Adam thinks Tommy’s on the sharp edge of begging for more, he pulls away. The look of confusion on Tommy’s face is enough to let Adam know that Tommy was completely lost in the moment, and that’s exactly what he wanted. 

Reaching over to the bowl of condoms, Adam pulls a packet out, using his teeth to open it. He prays to the universe that he doesn’t fumble and stumble getting it on, because he doesn’t want anything to break the mood and the spell he’s worked so carefully to create. 

Fate and karma and whatever forces there are seem to be on his side. He manages to get the condom out and get it on and slicked without a problem. Without much more time passing than it takes both of them to take a deep breath, he’s in the right position and ready for the main event. 

Without giving Tommy a chance to get used to the idea, Adam slides his hands under Tommy’s knees, pulling them up and open, and pushes all the way in. He’s confident Tommy can take it, and the _Fuck, yeah. Just like that_ that comes out of Tommy’s mouth tells him he’s not wrong. 

Tommy’s legs find their place, one wrapped around Adam’s waist, the other almost up to Adam’s shoulder. They hold on tight as Adam fucks into Tommy quickly, and then again, over and over, the satiny bed coverings letting Tommy slide with each thrust. Adam needs more control, so he pulls back the force just the tiniest bit, holding Tommy’s hips still as he does. He knows he’s probably leaving finger shaped bruises, but it feels so very right. 

He leans down, kissing Tommy again and again and again, each kiss punctuated by another push of his hips. They’re both getting exactly what they want, and it shows in the perfection of their joined climb toward climax. 

Adam feels the wetness on Tommy’s belly from the leftover pool of lube as it covers his own when skin meets skin. He feels the hardness of Tommy’s dick, pressed between them, sliding through sweat and slick. He feels his own muscles tremble, trying to hold out for one more second, one more fuck.

He feels all of it, and then he feels none of it, his body giving up and going over the edge of pleasure and orgasm. He lies there for who knows how long, trying to find his way back to the room and the setting and the man who took him to that elusive place he’d been searching for. 

When he can open his eyes, Adam sees Tommy’s face, a look that’s quite close to pain on it. He knows that Tommy’s close - so close that nothing else matters - but he’s been conditioned not to expect anyone to consider his own pleasure. Tricks aren’t known to pay to see a hooker enjoy themselves, after all. 

“Don’t hold back,” Adam manages to say. “Tell me what you need.”

Adam can see Tommy fighting it, fighting that part of himself that wants its due. But somewhere between the thrashing and the tense muscles, the truth comes out. “Just a little bit more. Fingers, or mouth or fucks - it doesn’t matter. I just need a little more.” 

“Good answer, Tommy,” Adam says, pulling out and pulling off the used condom. “Before we’re done for the night, we can probably manage all three.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter, wherein Tommy gets some, too

“Good answer, Tommy,” he hears Adam say as he pulls out and pulls off the used condom. “Before we’re done for the night, we can probably manage all three.”

Before they’re done for the night sounds good, Tommy thinks, but not as good as right fucking now would be. He pulls against the cuffs in frustration, and it sparks the tiniest bit of heat and a strange sense of satisfaction when he feels them bite into his skin. Then he pulls at them again, because he’s doubly frustrated over his reaction. 

He’s been given free rein to be honest, though. Adam told him to use his words to ask for what he wants, didn’t he? He has lots of words just begging to come out, starting with, “Now. I need something now.”

And just because his mama raised him right, he adds the prettiest little _please!_ at the end.

That seems to get Adam’s attention, because his hand moves in, stroking warm circles on Tommy’s stomach. Except it’s not warm that Tommy wants. He needs the quick heat now. He needs the burn that comes with full out orgasm. He needs the frost that covers his world when he comes. 

He tries arching up into the touch. He tries squirming and wiggling and any other damn thing he can manage, but it doesn’t do a fucking thing, except maybe make Adam smile. It’s not even a real smile. Tommy’s seen it often enough before to know it’s closer to the smirk of someone who knows they hold all the power, someone in absolute control. 

Usually, he’d go all compliant in a situation like this. He’d play his part to the end, being the good little sex toy he’s learned to be, and if the john didn’t remember to give him enough to get him off before they left, he’d slip into the bathroom to clean up, taking care of things on his own.

But he’d thought tonight was different. He thought Adam was different. Fuck, he _knows_ Adam’s different, and no matter how hard it is to pull the words together, he manages.

“Your hand. On my dick. I wanna feel your big hand wrapped all the way around it. I want you to start slow, but firm.”

Tommy sees the smirk on Adam’s face grow into a grin, and Adam says, “All you have to do is tell me what you want,” as he takes Tommy’s dick in hand. 

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat, because, holy shit! Adam’s hand really is big enough to wrap him and hold him and pretty much do whatever the fuck it wants to him. And that thought, right there? That sends fireworks of awareness sparking all through his body. 

He’s played the part of a willing sub before, usually for men who wanted to think some part of them knew how to be dominant, but couldn’t quite pull it off. But this is something altogether different. Adam’s a natural at this. He doesn’t have to take control; he already has it, and Tommy’s dick is more than ready to go along with that arrangement. 

That’s something his mind keeps stumbling over. There’s something significant there, but he doesn’t think this is the time to try and figure it out. He only knows that this time he’s not playing a role. Fuck, he’d drop to his knees right this second, if he weren’t cuffed to the bed. 

Tommy feels Adam’s hand tighten around his dick, making him oh-so-aware of just how vulnerable he is here, and damn, if that doesn’t make him that much harder. “Stay with me,” he hears Adam saying, like he’d go anywhere else, even if he could. 

But he knows what Adam means. He was slipping into some strange headspace - someplace he’s never gone before, because he never knew it was there. It’s something to file away for later, though. Something to take out and maybe explore when he’s on his own. Right now, he’s got enough to keep him occupied. 

It feels like Adam’s touching every part of him, leaving kisses and trials of slick all over his body, and Tommy can’t do anything besides lie there and fucking take it. He feels a hand working its way up his side while Adam’s lips press tight against his neck. Then Adam’s hand is around his throat, pressing just enough to make him aware of each breath he’s taking, while teeth nip at an exposed nipple.

And that big, strong hand is still around his dick, pumping it up and down, fast and slow, over and over, teasing the slit on the upswing, pressing against his balls when it goes down. He feels his heartbeat trying to match Adam’s rhythm. He knows tiny beads of sweat are breaking out on his forehead and upper lip from the strain of holding on and holding back until Adam tells him he can let go.

It’s not long before Tommy can’t think past the sensations, can’t see past the wisps of fog that are taking over his brain.

He hears words, though. He hears Adam asking, “Do you wanna come, Tommy?” 

And holy, fucking shit! That’s the first time any john’s asked if he wanted to come. But by asking, Adam’s just stepped up to a whole new level of authority that Tommy had no idea even existed. That one little question made this whole thing so goddamn real that he has no idea how to process it. 

Except Adam asked him a question, and apparently he’s waiting for an answer. Tommy feels the hand on his dick go still, and the touches everywhere on his body fade as Adam waits. Tommy really isn’t sure when making words actually come out of his mouth became something he has to work so damn hard to achieve, but he thinks it happened about the time Adam walked into this room. 

_Whatever_ , he tells himself. He needs to fucking come. But that’s not exactly what Adam asked, is it? He’s pretty sure that Adam’s precise with the words he uses, so Tommy thinks he’d better not confuse need with want. 

The problem is, Tommy tries to think his way through it. He tries to find the right answer, and that’s so far beyond his capabilities right now that he’d laugh at himself, if he could. He’s literally shaking with need and frustration, and ready to scream, and this time it’s not an act he’s putting on for a random john. Then he hears his own voice in his head talking to him. 

It’s telling him quiet secrets about warmth and intensity and yelling at him about fire and ice, and everything is jumbled and mixed all the way to hell and back, but he gets the idea. 

“I want you to kiss me first,” he manages to get out between panting, wondering if he’s going to forget how to fucking breathe tonight, too. “I want you to kiss me first, and I want you to kiss me when I come.” 

Tommy pulls the next words together in his mind before he says them, because he knows he’s only got one chance to get this right. “I want to know you’re the one making me feel this way, and I want you to know it’s me you’re here with.” 

He can sense Adam watching him, waiting for what’s next. They both know he left the hardest part for last. “I want you to know me.”

So much for professional detachment, Tommy thinks, but what the hell, right? That went away a long time ago, too. 

Finally, he finds some clarity in what he sees and what he thinks, and he uses it to look right into Adam’s eyes. “You wanted realness? Make this fucking real for me, Adam.”

He sees a look pass over Adam’s face that makes the fire in his belly burn just that much brighter. It’s not a smile, not the smirk he wore earlier, either. It’s not the look of a predator that Adam had when he first came here. This look has elements of all of those, but the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Tommy’s not sure whose words those are, nor does he care - they’re leftover detritus from some forgotten high school english class - but he’s never seen them displayed quite so clearly and truthfully as he does right now. 

Tommy only has a second to appreciate that look, though, because before any more than one can tick off, Adam’s right there, kissing him, like he’d asked. And it’s not like any kiss Tommy’s ever experienced before, either. Not that he’s had a lot of them. People don’t kiss hookers. It’s the one part of the job that Tommy doesn’t like, but he’d always heard you gotta take the good with the bad. At least he thought he had to until now. 

No matter how much experience he has or hasn’t had with kisses, he can still tell this is something special. It’s enough to make him weak in the knees, even though he’s not standing up. The kiss has crashing teeth and intensity and strength and a vividness that Tommy’s never known before. There’s something almost reverent in the way Adam explores his mouth while his hand cups Tommy’s face, angling it just right, just the way Adam wants it. 

Tommy leans into that hand, and when he does, Adam’s other hand starts working Tommy’s dick again, just as nicely as it was before. Adam’s kissing him again, all tender this time, and it’s slow and sexy and sweet in just the way Tommy wanted it, and he thinks the contrast is gonna be the death of him. Death by orgasm might not be the worst thing that could happen, though.

He’s more than ready to come now. He really, fucking wants to come. He can feel all his muscles going tight, taut as a bowstring and ready to fly. He feels the pressure building, low in his belly. He opens his eyes - Tommy has no idea when he’d closed them. Sometime during the first kiss, he thinks - and sees Adam looking at him while he kisses him. 

Seeing his own eyes reflected in Adam’s, knowing that Adam’s seeing the same thing in reverse, well, that’s all it takes to bring it all together. Tommy feels the last bands of reserve shatter like crystal and diamonds. Everything is too bright and sharp, and it feels like it should hurt, but it’s nothing but a river of relief. He floats and floats, knowing Adam will catch him. 

When he can think and see and breathe again, he notices that he’s not cuffed to the bed anymore. He doesn’t remember Adam taking the restraints off, but he was so far gone, he’s surprised he still knows his own name. He doesn’t think he passed out, but he really doesn’t care, one way or another. All he cares about is the way Adam’s holding him and kissing him - small tender kisses now, like Adam knows he couldn’t take anything more just yet. 

They stay that way, dozing and kissing and cuddling until the first hint of dawn shows around the edges of the curtains, and Tommy really doesn’t want this night to be over. He’s caught glimpses of little pieces of himself that he’d like to explore some more, and he thinks Adam might be able to help with that. But this was set up as a one time shot, and all things must come to an end, he tells himself. There’s just one thing he has to let Adam know before it’s all over.

Taking a deep breath, he says, “If you ever feel a need to find a hooker again, please don’t call my agency.” 

Tommy sees the look of confusion on Adam’s face, the edge of hurt, too. He’s really shit with words, and he has to fix this before he makes it worse. “Tonight was so far beyond what’s supposed to happen between a john and a hooker. This doesn’t happen when I’m working. It _can’t_ happen when I’m working.”

Now, Tommy can actually fucking feel Adam pulling away emotionally, and he has to set this right, right the fuck now. “I’m not saying I don’t want to see you again. I want that so goddamn much, I can’t even say it right, but not professionally, okay? I’ll give you my private number. You can use that, if you want.”

From the way Adam kisses him then, Tommy thinks that’s the best damn answer he’s come up with all night.


End file.
